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Gunhilda of Gorsemore


Sirius Black lay awake beneath the canopy of his bed, one arm bracing up his head, the other flung across his chest, deep in thought as the night passed by. The light of the full moon danced across Remus’s empty bed.

It had been a week since the news of Mr. Parry had reached Hogwarts. Professor Blythe had not yet returned to her post as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, though she had been seen at the faculty table during a couple dinners and breakfasts, ending the rumors that she’d been sent off to Azkaban, at least. McGonagall, who continued to teach session in Professor Blythe’s absence, was no more giving of detail than she’d been that first day, however, and the students of Hogwarts were no closer to knowing the truth of the matter at hand than they’d ever been. They spent many whispered conversations in the Common Room or at the table in the Great Hall speculating about what was going on with Professor Blythe, but none of the theories seemed to solve the mystery.

Sirius wasn’t thinking about Professor Blythe, though. Rather, he was thinking once more about Remus, out there in the Shrieking Shack. He sighed and shifted his weight, his eyes turned to the frame of the window, at the edge of the moon’s orb peeking ‘round the towers of the castle, the pale blue light gleaming in his eye. He hated the full moon nearly as much as Remus did, by this point, for it meant that he would not sleep. Guilt filled his stomach and churned within him too thickly for that, though he wasn’t sure precisely what it was that he, Sirius, felt guilty about, other than the fact that it was not him out there in the cold, howling at the moon. He ran his fingers over the silver scars that marked his arm and frowned, pained at the idea that Remus may be inflicting pain upon himself out there right at that very moment, without a soul about to stop him.

If only there was a way, Sirius thought, to stop him the wolfish instincts from taking over, some way to keep Remus being Remus once he’d turned. But he could clearly recall the bloodthirsty glistening in the wolf’s eyes the month before and he shivered. There didn’t seem to have been any words that could still the wolf’s madness within. He was too far gone to understand reasoning and pleading, Sirius thought. The only way to speak to him would be to speak in the tongue of an animal and that, obviously, was quite impossible a task.

He clutched his duvet from the foot of the bed and pulled it closer ‘round his chin.

The first rays of dawn were creeping in the window when Sirius awoke from a light snooze that he had fallen into, rousing with the slightest sound. James was up and pulling robes from his trunk. “What’re you doing?” murmured Sirius.

“Quidditch practice,” James whispered. “Derek wanted us on the pitch first thing. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep,” Sirius replied, struggling to sit up, a bleary mess, “I’ll go with you.”

“You just were sleeping,” James replied, “I know you’re worried about Remus, but you’ve got to sleep.” He fastened his cloak ‘round his shoulders and tucked his heated gloves into his pocket.

“I’ll sleep when Remus gets back,” Sirius answered, and he threw his feet out of bed and grabbed his own cloak. He hadn’t even bothered changing into pyjamas the night before and his shaggy hair was even more unruly than James. “I’ve got to get my mind off it. Watching a spot of Quidditch and getting some fresh air will do me good. Plus, maybe I can take notes for what to do next term this way,” he added, shrugging.

“Alright, but it’s going to be really cold out there,” James warned.

Sirius shrugged, “Bah. The cold doesn’t bother me.”

Sirius wished he still had the same feeling about the cold an hour later when he was sitting in the stands of the pitch, watching as Derek had the team flying laps and practicing shooting quaffles in the rings at Andy Woodhouse. It was freezing up in the stands and Sirius pulled his cloak ‘round himself tightly, but the wind was whipping at a good pace and his nose was pink and stuff from the chill of it. He was very thankful when Hagrid came bumbling up into the stands with a thermos of hot tea and a bag of cauldron cakes. “Thanks Hagrid,” he shivered, holding the warm cup between his numb fingers.

“Oh t’sn’t a problem,” Hagrid said, waving off the thank you, “Saw yeh were up in the stands here from me house o’er there an’ was thinkin’ how it’d be nice ter take in a bit of Quidditch.” He sipped from a stein he’d brought along - the thermos seemed to never empty of warm tea - and poured Sirius a fresh cup. “Where’s lit’l Peter Pettigrew?” he asked as he poured out some more tea into his own stein as well.

Sirius breathed in the steam coming off the cup. “Oh Peter was still asleep,” he answered with a shrug, “We didn’t wake him. It was too early. Derek had James up at the crack of dawn to come out here!”

“Let him have a bit of a lie-in, did you? Mighty thoughtful of yer,” Hagrid said, nodding and sipping his tea. Dribbles of it spilled over his beard as he drank deeply. “Ahhh,” he breathed in appreciation for the warm liquid when he’d finished. “Up before the crack o’ dawn,” he shook his head, “Blimey if they don’t work hard at Quidditch.”

Sirius nodded, “They really do.”

Harder than usual, actually, he thought. Derek seemed to be pressing the players to do more challenging plays and fly more laps than they usually did during practice. This suspicion was backed when James rejoined Sirius after practice had finally ended - nearly in time for lunch - and they were on their way back up to the castle after bidding goodbye to Hagrid. “Bloody hell,” complained James, “Derek was a ruddy monster!” He shook his head, switching which shoulder he carried his broom upon, “You know, the only reason he finally ended the practice, even now, was because Bilis threatened mutiny if he didn’t let up?”

“Can’t say I blame him, mate,” Sirius said with a laugh, “If it was half as cold on the pitch as it was up in the stands, I’d have called it long before even he did. Only reason I’m not frozen solid to the bench is thanks to Hagrid’s tea!”

They stepped into the castle and on to the Great Hall, followed by the other Quidditch team members, and had their seats about the Gryffindor table, laughing as they pulled plates of food to themselves and began to thaw out in the warmth of the room. “There you lot are!” called Peter’s voice a few minutes later. He crossed the Hall and joined them at the table, a cross look about his face, “Where were you? I woke up and found all the beds empty except my own!”

“James had practice first thing,” Sirius explained, “And I couldn’t sleep, so I went along to watch.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up, too?” Peter complained.

“Be glad we didn’t, it was frigid out there,” James said.

Sirius nodded, “The wind was howling through the stands and biting my nose clean off it seemed.”

Peter pouted. It did sound rather awful, yet he wished they’d asked him along anyway, however terrible it would’ve been, he would’ve liked to have been included. “You always leave me out,” he complained.

“What’re you talking about? Don’t be stupid,” James said, “You were asleep!”

“You should’ve wakened me up,” Peter argued.

“Whyever for? You aren’t a part of the team,” Sirius said.

“Well neither are you,” Peter pointed out.

James answered, “Well he hopes to be next year, doesn’t he? You don’t.”

“You would have wakened Remus,” Peter said sourly.

Sirius rolled his eyes, “No we wouldn’t have.”

“If he’d been there, you would’ve,” Peter argued.

Frank Longbottom looked over, suddenly tuning into the conversation. “Where is Remus?” he asked, looking over the three of them, realizing he wasn’t there for the first time.

Sirius glared at Peter, who flinched, having not meant to call attention to Remus’s absence. He didn’t want the secret to come out by accident and end up with Sirius Black as an enemy.

“He wasn’t feeling well last night, pretty late,” James fabricated, “He went down to Pomfrey’s.”

“Oh - is he alright?” Frank looked concerned.

“I’m sure he’s just fine,” lied James with a shrug, “Probably just ate something that digested funny.”

Frank nodded understandingly, “I felt a bit queasy last night myself, now you’ve said it,” he agreed, “P’haps the House Elves undercooked some of the meat or something.”

“Probably,” said Sirius quickly, glad for Frank’s apparent case of hypochondria.

“I’m sure the elves didn’t mean to do that,” stammered Peter, emphasizing the words he meant for Sirius to take as an apology.

Sirius scoffed, catching the message Peter was sending him, but not accepting it. “The elves had better be more careful in the future,” Sirius said pointedly, “We wouldn’t want anyone to end up hurt over it.”

Peter swallowed back his nerves and stood up quickly, his bench scraping loudly on the floor of the Hall. “I better go,” he announced, and he turned before anyone could react or say a word to him, scurrying away.

Frank looked up, “I’m sure whatever it is is fine; nothing Pomfrey can’t mend with a good elixir.” He stared after Peter’s retreating back as he ducked out of the Great Hall. “He really is a bit of a worryer, isn’t he? Peter, I mean.” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You have no idea,” James groaned.




Peter didn’t feel much like going back to the common room or the dorms, so he wandered about the castle a bit, taking the scenic route back. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a chocolate frog. He was still hungry, having not finished his lunch because of the argument, and he found himself an empty classroom and sat down on one of the benches in the back of the room to eat his sweet in peace. He peeled back the wrapper on the frog and quickly caught the chocolate in his palms before it could hop away.

“Oh no you don’t,” he muttered as the chocolate candy attempted to squeeze it’s way out of his thick fingers. Quickly, he bit off the chocolate frog’s hind legs and the spell was broken and the chocolate sat motionless in his palm at last. He chewed slowly and rested the sweet on his knee, turning his attention to the collectable card within the package.

He had a huge collection of these cards - so big that he only had a part of it in his trunk, the rest were at home. Peter ate enough chocolate frogs that one would think he’d have the full set of cards, but the wizarding factory had several that were rather rarer than the others and consequently there were several he hadn’t yet found, though he had utter dozens of some of the easier to locate ones - like Nicholas Flamel, for example. He had simply oodles of Nicholas Flamel!

The card from the package today was another familiar face - Gunhilda of Gorsemoore. She was an ugly witch, with one eye and a humped back, who had lived during the late 16th century, Peter had probably a hundred copies of her card at home in a shoebox beneath his bed, and practically had the little paragraph about her from the back of the card memorized --

Gunhilda of Gorsemoore (1556-1639) was a potioneer, most famous for inventing the only known remedy for Dragon Pox. During the Dragon Pox Epidemic of the 1580s, Gunhilda’s potion saved thousands from the onset of the deadly disease. A form of her potion is still used today by healers at St. Mungo’s. Gunhilda was honored with the installment of a statue in her likeness at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, located in the third floor corridor. Gunhilda’s favorite spell was Dissendium. She enjoyed pineapples and retired from potionwork to become a pineapple farmer on an island in the Pacific.

He sighed and tossed the card onto the table beside him with a sigh and took another bite of his frog.

As he chewed, his eyes wandered over the boring, all-too-familiar card, and he sniffled, watching the old hag on it smirked and hold up a nasty-looking beaker of vomit-brown potion that steamed and bubbled. Peter thought he might rather die of the Dragon Pox than take a swig of that horrid looking stuff.

Leaning back, Peter propped his feet up on the next bench and closed his eyes, fully intending to take a nap there in the deserted classroom. He would’ve done, too, if only he could’ve turned off his mind long enough. But as it were, he drifted a bit for a couple of long moments, mind moving seamlessly between sleep and thought. Suddenly his eyes popped open.

The witch with the humped back - the statue which they knew concealed another secret passageway - it was the likeness of Gunhilda of Gorsemoore!

Peter wasn’t sure what exactly could be done with that information, but it seemed to be very important. After all, they’d spent a good amount of time trying to figure out how to get into the passageway that the statue blocked to no end. It seemed that there was nothing to push, nothing to pull, nothing to do. James and Sirius had tried saying endless strings of words to the statue, searching for a password, but without any information about the statue it was hard to say anything that might be a logical password. But if it was Gunhilda… well, there could be any load of Dragon Pox related terms to say that might open the passage behind her.

Excitement tickled Peter and he leaped to his feet and grabbed the card from the table, running so fast that the little picture of Gunhilda toppled about on the card.

He arrived to the dorm, breathless and waving the card about. “You lot - won’t - won’t believe --” he stopped, looking about, panting. They weren’t back yet. He frowned and clutched the stitch in his side. “Of course not,” he murmured, “Why should they be? They’re probably off having an adventure without me.” He took deep breaths, trying to regain himself after that run through the castle. When he’d completely recovered and there was still no sign of James or Sirius, Peter looked down at the chocolate frog card once more and made up his mind to go to the third floor by himself. Let them be left out of an adventure for once and see how they liked it!

And so Peter set out for the third floor alone.